Deadly Game
by thesplitterheart
Summary: I really advise you to cooperate. Mr. Wayne. The man spat blood and then set out to answer Fuck you, bitch
1. Chapter 1

Prolog

It was a rainy night. The streets were deserted and the puddles were gathering on the streets and in most houses the light had already gone out.

Only in an old swimming pool just outside London was the light still on.

A muscular man in a designer suit was tied to a chair. A woman with light brown hair and blue eyes stood before him and held a nine-tailed cat, with small iron claws at the tip, in her hand.

»I really advise you to cooperate. Mr. Wayne. «

The man spat blood and then set out to answer

»Fuck you, bitch«

the woman shook her head almost sadly and struck. Again, again, again, and again. The agonizing cries echoed from the walls in the swimming pool, but there was no one who could have heard the cries.

»Tell me where the kids are and you'll get out of here alive?«

»Never. «

»Then there's nothing more I can do for you, Mr. Wayne. «

The woman stepped up the stairs out of the pool and stepped into the small room next to the pool and switched on the water in a few easy steps. Then she stepped back to the pelvis and smiled obliquely

»Have fun with the agonizing death. You deserved it. «

Then the woman turned around and left, but came back and added:

»I'll find the children with or without your help. «


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 1_

Mycroft entered the dilapidated swimming pool followed by Anthea and joined DCI Greg Lestrade

"Inspector"

"Mr. Holmes, Anthea. What can I do for you?"

Mycroft nodded towards the man who was just fished out of the water.

"He works for the government. Do you have a lead yet?"

" Mycroft, mourning the dead. What dirt did he clean up for you?"

The three turned towards the voice and saw Sherlock, followed by John under the police barrier and headed towards the men.

"You should know that I leave no trace, dear brother. Of course, based on the misguided assumption that I have dirt to clean up. "

Mycroft answered his brother with a false smile as he leaned on his umbrella.

"Hello, Mycroft, Anthea, Greg. "

Did John say hello to the three

"Apologize for his rudeness. "

The four looked over at Sherlock, who was kneeling next to the tied corpse and, by the way, knocking Anderson down before he explained aloud:

"He was tortured before his death, firstly he was beaten with bare fists, hence the broken nose, the blue eyes and the missing teeth. According to the marks, which are quite small and delicate, a woman, the broken ribs are from a nine-iron and the remaining scratches on his upper body and face indicate that he was whipped, more precisely a nine-tailed cat with curved iron tips was used. Then the pool was filled with water and he drowned slowly and agonizingly. "

"A nine-tailed cat? "

Anderson grinned amusedly

"Do you know anything about that, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock straightened himself up again and looked down on Anderson, from top to bottom.

"I also know Donavan gave you a blowjob before you came to the crime scene. "

"And you know this how?"

"I can tell by her open zipper and the pressure marks, Donavan's knees. "

Sherlock swirled around and left the scene, John on his heels.

"You gonna take this case or what?"

Lestrade called after the two of them

"Not interested. Too busy. "

Sherlock waved a taxi in and the two men got in.

In the cab, John, Sherlock asked

"You've been lying on the sofa for two weeks, shooting at the wall, whining you're bored. Why don't you take the case?"

"And do my brother a favor? Never. "


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 2_

John was drinking his coffee the next morning when Mrs Hudson brought the paper. John just took a quick look inside before throwing her to Sherlock on the couch. He rose confused and looked at the caster

"Is there a reason you threw me out with a paper, or are you just trying to improve your throwing skills?"

"Look forward to seeing you in the paper. "

"So what?"

"Read the headline. "

Sherlock reached for the paper, unfolded it and read the headline

 _ **The master detective refuses murder.**_

 _ **Sherlock Holmes, too busy for murder.**_

Only two.

"So what? "The police can take care of a murder themselves for once. "

There was a knock at the bottom of the front door and shortly afterwards footsteps were heard on the stairs. Mycroft.

"Why don't you want the case? You've been lying on the couch for days doing nothing. "

Sherlock swirled around giving his brother an angry look before he threw himself back on the sofa and curled up.

"I don't see how it's any of your business. "

"This is a matter of national security. Take care of it. "

"Why don't you send one of your henchmen, there aren't that many contract killers. "

"He was in possession of highly sensitive information that was not found if it were made public, there would be a scandal. "

Mycroft sighed out of Sherlock's chair and handed John a file containing everything he knew, "If you don't mind, I'll tell Mother where you live. "


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 3_

How it began:

Alexandra Sinclair sat in her favourite café, the Westchester Inn, as she does every day except Sundays. There, she either completed her files on a case she had just closed, or met with new clients. At the moment it was the former.

As she had to travel to the States and half of the African continents due to her last case, her internal clock was completely confused and she was already tired at 6 o'clock in the evening. So she hoped when she saved the documents of her last case that no new client would come, but of course things changed, because just as she was shutting down her notebook and waving to the waiters to collect money, a man entered the café in his late 40s and looked around hectically, then he headed for Alexandra.

He stopped in front of your table.

Urgent request, rich, left-handed, diplomat, recent death, or separation from the wife, rather death. Two kids. Well-trained.

Wet coat, dirty shoes and trouser turn-ups pointed out that he had first taken his car, then got out with a chauffeur and ran away to the café, so it could be concluded that he was in a traffic jam, probably on the B3, but had such an important concern that he had not been able to wait until the following day and had thus accepted the ruination of his expensive suit.

His expensive suit, the Rolex, the fact that he had a driver and the ink on his left sleeve, Royal Blue, he was rich and left-handed, his identity card, which was still attached to his jacket, showed that he worked for the Russian Foreign Office.

The bright spot on his ring finger suggested that he was married, but had recently removed the ring, not because of separation but because of her death, as he wore the ring on a chain around his neck, which had come out from under his shirt during the race and because he was not out of breath, he exercised regularly. On his shirt were to find short black hair, his own long red, and brown hair. Two kids he was holding.

"Are you Alexander Sinclair?"

"Yes, who are you?"

Alex asked the counterquestion, while she asked her counterpart to sit down with a gesture.

"Mikael Smirnov. I want to arrange you!"

"Who recommended it?"

"Sven Anderson. "

Alex pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and sent Sven a text message. A moment later the confirmation came and she put her cell phone away again.

"Смирнов Смирнов Смирнов. How can I be of service to you? Am I right in assuming that you appear to be connected to their children?"

"So it's true what they say about her. "

"My reputation precedes me with pleasure. So I'm right in thinking. "

"Yes, my children have been kidnapped. "

"Should I take your case, there are a few things you need to be clear about at the outset. One, no lies, no concealments. If I notice you're lying to me, I'll stop investigating immediately.

2\. no media.

3\. my fee is fixed in advance and not negotiable. You pay as soon as the case is closed. Do you understand?"

"Yes. "

"Then it's best to start at the beginning and leave nothing out. "

Mikael loosened his tie, played with the ring and began to explain the problem. . .


End file.
